


Your Days, Your Weeks, Your Months

by ijemanja



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunk Sex, Episode: s05e12 Basic Story, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijemanja/pseuds/ijemanja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Britta and Jeff leave Greendale behind. But, like the fake sideburns on the low-rent Elvis-impersonator who performs the ceremony, it doesn't stick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Days, Your Weeks, Your Months

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haywire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haywire/gifts).



The hard surface of the desk was hurting Britta's knees as she moved over him. 

Jeff's eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in concentration as his fingers worked on his nipples. She batted his hands away and took over, digging in with her thumbnails. His eyes flew open and he grunted, grabbing her hips and pulling her down harder on his cock. 

She smirked as she did it again.

It was just like old times.

*

"Nailed it," Jeff said, as he tied off the condom and tossed it in the trashcan. He leaned over with his hand outstretched, and she laughed as she high-fived him, then went back to pulling her sweater on over her head.

She smoothed down her hair as she looked around the bare room, at the newly-christened study table, and at Jeff, who was fixing his own hair in the reflection of a window. 

There was a strange, hollow pang at the thought of never coming back here. But she'd left Greendale once before, and it would be easier this time, because she was doing it with him. Buddy system all the way.

"Let's go," she said, reached for his hand, and held on.

*

"So we should just do it, right? Just go for it, right now - I mean, why wait?"

The parking lot was almost empty as they walked out to Jeff's car.

"To start with, we can't just do it right now," Jeff said, reading off his phone. "We have to go to the county clerk's office to get a licence, then we have to find some kind of officiant to perform a ceremony -"

"Ugh, we're two people of the opposite sex trying to get married, isn't this what the tea party wants?"

"I think it's exactly what they want, yes. A gun in the hands of every public school teacher, and us to get married."

"So what's with the road blocks and red tape? If we were being smart about this, we'd say a hearty eff you to the facists at city hall, hop a bus to Vegas where they don't legislate against spontaneity and the right to do stupid things while drunk, and get this shiz locked down."

There was a pause as they both gave these words the proper weight and consideration they deserved. 

"I'll look for last minute deals on hotel rooms," Jeff said.

"I'm gonna call my manager and get off work tonight, then I'll check the bus schedules."

"Yeah, I don't take the bus."

"Right, I forgot, that's for hippies and homeless people."

"Correct. Check flights, instead."

"Well sure, Mr Sandwich Lawyer, guess you can afford it."

"We can afford it. Stick with me, kid, economy class all the way."

They had reached the car by then and Britta stopped, suddenly horrified as any self-respecting 99-percenter would be. "God, you're going big time corporate."

"Again. You may remember I actually was a lawyer for a little while there."

"Do you realise how many trees you're going to have to plant just to offset your own douchebag emissions? Can't believe I'm marrying you, I feel dirty."

"Now you know how I feel after the study room back there."

"Shut up." She punched his arm, laughing, and the laughter turned into a wide smile as she caught his eye and they just grinned at each other. The high of it all had yet to subside, they were giddy with it, with this brand new future stretching out in front of them where nothing was Greendale and everything made sense.

A chime from her phone broke the moment and she looked down. "Another text from Annie."

"Yeah, I've got one from Annie, one from Abed, and five from the Dean."

She sighed, staring down at her phone.

"Hey, if we stay three nights at the Venetian we get a fourth night free."

Her smile growing again, she started searching for flights. "The Venetian? Come on, we can go tackier than that."

*

"It's a perfectly good name for a dog."

"Sure, if you want our dog to be a walking tribute to consumerism. You can't name a dog after scotch. It's demeaning."

"It's a dog. Dogs don't care what they're called, because they don't speak English."

"You don't know what they speak. And anyway, 'Chivas' is a stupid name."

"And you want to call it something like 'Free Trade' or 'Al Jazeera', I suppose."

"No. My cats' names are Walter and Daniel because they are my friends, not my property."

"Fine, whatever, what about something simple, like Johnnie?"

"Johnnie, okay, that's cute, I - wait. I hate you."

Just then the beverage cart was wheeled up beside Jeff and the flight attendant leant over their row. "Would you like anything sir, ma'am?" 

"Yes please, I'll have your finest tiny bottle of scotch, no ice," Jeff said, reaching for his wallet.

"White wine," Britta said, and rolled her eyes as Jeff received his stupid Johnnie Walker with a wide grin.

*

They still had to get a marriage licence, of course. And fill out forms and have a ceremony and all that madness. But everything was easy and convenient in Vegas, like the sin city itself had their back with this whole nuptials thing. 

They took a cab from the airport and walked into the marriage licence bureau around 11pm, walked out by 11.20, and found the closest place where a gentleman with fake sideburns and a beer belly would join them in non-secular matrimony with the least amount of ceremony or tradition possible. 

It wasn't even midnight by the time they were done, and then, for their first act as husband and wife, they went and found a liquor store.

*

So it was done. Officially done. Locked down and sewn up.

Mr and Ms Jeff Winger and Britta Perry, married. Even if their names did not indicate that fact because she wasn't chattel and if he wasn't going to change his name to Perry and if everyone agreed hyphens were stupid then this was the only option.

They were in bed now, and though they'd boned a hundred times before, they were about to bone for the first time as newly-wedded people. It was special. 

"Crap," Britta said, jumping back onto the bed as she dug through her purse. "I was sure I had more in here."

"We don't have any condoms, seriously?" he said.

They'd already gone through her emergency stash, apparently; one in the study room, and the other in Jeff's living room while they waited for the cab coming to take them to the airport. 

The question was, why hadn't she thrown a box in her suitcase when she was running around her apartment packing eight hours ago? That was kind of a weird oversight on her part. She remembered her curling iron and all her favourite shoes, but forgot condoms when she was _eloping to Vegas?_

It wasn't like she didn't have plenty of experience packing for spur of the moment travel; the list went condoms, spare undies, and phone charger, and then whatever else you remembered before dashing out the door. 

Well, at least she had her phone charger.

"Why didn't you bring any?" she said, neatly deflecting blame onto its rightful shoulders as she set her purse aside.

"Relax, we're in Vegas, I'm sure we won't have to go far to get some. Tomorrow." One of his hands slid over her hip. "You're still on the pill, right?"

"Uh, no actually."

"What, why not?"

"Well, because I don't have to justify my reproductive choices to you. What are you, the Supreme Court? Way to bring down the mood."

"I think that already happened with the no condom revelation."

She leaned over to grab the open champagne bottle from the nightstand, swigging from it before settling beside him against the enormous hotel pillows. 

She licked her lips. Damn, that was some good champagne. "Would it really be so bad?"

"What?"

"Well, we're married. So what if I got pregnant? If it happens, it happens. We'll deal with it like adults." 

"Huh. It's not even a risk when you put it like that." 

"Right? This is like the least risky part of any of this. I mean, unless you have herpes."

"Not yet. Ask me again in the morning."

He took the bottle from her and set it back on the table, and then reached for her, sliding his hand into her panties while she tossed her bra off the side of the bed. 

The panties disappeared quickly after that, along with his pants and briefs, and he pressed her down into the mattress, kissing her intently as he settled between her legs.

He came too quickly.

Much too quickly, and he snorted with laughter when she shoved at his shoulders and glared.

"Sorry."

"Dude, seriously?"

He could be such a lousy lay when he was drunk. Or when he was on top. Or anytime, really.

He shifted off of her and lay there with his head propped on his hand, watching as she moved her hand between her legs and tried to salvage some of that build-up.

"Married sex," he said sagely.

"I'm gonna need more champagne," she bit out, two fingers on her clit and god she was almost there, if he'd just shut up...

He leaned over her chest, taking one of her nipples in his mouth and sucking and okay, that helped. She slid her free hand into his hair and held on as she came a minute later, biting her lip and heels digging into the starched sheets.

She relaxed with a sigh and closed her eyes. And when she opened them there was a champagne bottle hovering over her face.

She took it, sitting up. "Thanks."

He hid a yawn and her ire dissipated somewhat, looking at him with his mussed hair, half-asleep as he reclined against the headboard.

She curled up beside his big, lanky frame, and they finished the champagne together, passing the bottle back and forth between them.

*

They slept most of the morning away, ordered room service in the middle of the day, had more sex and then napped again. 

It wasn't until late in the afternoon that Britta came out of the bathroom and found Jeff sitting up in a hotel robe, staring at his phone.

"You remember those pictures we took last night?" he said.

"We took a lot of pictures." 

Selfies with Elvis. The signed marriage certificate. The two of them making out under a neon 'just married' sign. Their hotel room - which wasn't exactly a honeymoon suite, but it did have a great view of the strip as well as a jacuzzi like six feet away from the bed, which was pretty cool. 

"And we posted them. Everywhere."

"Cat's out of the bag, huh." She grabbed her own phone off the dresser. "Wow that is a lot of social media. So many messages, I'm kind of afraid to read them."

"Well that's why neither of us talked to anyone yesterday. They would have tried to talk us out of it."

"I know, which is why it was smart of us not to give them the chance, because this was the best idea ever."

"Right? Getting a mortgage with you will be the sanest thing I've done in about a decade. I can't wait. Crap."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"It's nothing, just - a new message from Annie."

"Oh."

"I don't know. This could be - it's a little weird, right?"

"You're asking me?"

"Forget it, it's fine."

"Jeff. God."

"It's not like we - I mean, yes, there was... Whatever. Call it what you want. If I was a different guy..."

Britta turned away, staring intently down at her phone. "You don't give her enough credit. You think she's waiting around for a different guy?"

"Yes. And, look, we're not doing this. We're not going to talk about this. It's too weird even for us. I'm drawing a line."

"You brought it up."

"Now I'm bringing it down. I got sidetracked there, I was actually figuring out what we should do once we leave the room. I mean, we should do that at some point because we're here in Las Vegas, where we could probably manage to have a good time if we put a little effort in. For example, there's a lounge at the MGM, which is conveniently right across the street, and they have over 200 different kinds of scotch. I say we start there."

She sighed and stopped furiously studying her twitter feed. "You've never been here before, have you?"

"Uh, no."

"Then we definitely need to go out tonight, and I'll even kindly let you drag me to some dumb scotch bar. In exchange, I want a complete moratorium on all showgirls and showgirl-related entertainments for the remainder of our stay."

"You drive a hard bargain."

"It's scotch. I already won."

"Well don't rub it in, and I'll let you have sex with me in the shower right now."

"So tempting," she drawled, and he shrugged, getting off the bed and backing towards the bathroom while making a show of losing the robe.

She totally caved after about ten seconds and followed. Because why not?

*

"I'm just saying, it's possible that we're using sex as an avoidance tactic. You know, so we don't have to deal with -"

"Stop talking."

He hitched her up higher against the cool tile and drove into her harder and sucked on her neck

"Yeah, okay."

*

Hours and a truly obscene amount of money spent on scotch later, somewhere in between being moved along by security for trying to make out on a blackjack table, and getting into an argument with a street performer about the canonical accuracy of his Kickpuncher costume, they were weaving in and out of the steady stream of people moving up and down the strip, arms around each other's waists so to not lose each other in the crowd. 

And Jeff leaned down and said in her ear: "So, do you love me?"

"What?"

"I said, do -"

"Oh what? Hey, yeah, of course I do. Dude, totally."

"Okay, good, that's great."

"What about you?"

"Hey, I married you, didn't I? Come on, you're Britta."

"That's me all right. Oh hey look it's Punchkicker!"

*

Sometime around 9am, hunched over the toilet, she remembered those words.

Not the Kickpuncher thing. The other ones.

Once she managed to pull herself off the bathroom floor and get dressed, she dug through her purse which was crammed with casino chips, strip club flyers, a giant novelty margarita cup shaped like the Eiffel Tower (still holding an inch of strawberry margarita), a bunch of bar napkins including one with someone's phone number on it, her bra, and what she was hoping was Jeff's sock, and finally found some money. She needed hangover food and aspirin. And a lighter and papers for the dimebag she'd scored last night from a likely looking gentleman while Jeff's back was turned.

"I'm going out," she said as she dragged herself over to put on some shoes. "I'll get breakfast."

There was only a faint groan from the bed in reply. 

* 

"Britta," Shirley's voice on the phone sounded very far away and also very judgemental, "is this all an elaborate prank? Of course it's very humorous in a sick and disturbed sort of way, but it would ease my mind all the same if you just tell me it's a prank." 

"What prank? We're in Vegas, we got married, it happened." 

"Oh."

"I got all your texts. What do you mean you saved the school?"

"We saved it. We saved it without the two of you, so I suppose it doesn't matter that you abandoned your friends to do what you did in our time of need. It's okay now, Greendale will stay open and everything can go back to normal. Well, most of us can. Some of us may have made irrevocable choices that will remain with them for the rest of our lives, which might make things a little complicated."

"That's so weird. Like, I did not expect that. Wow."

"What were you two thinking?"

"That it's time to move on with our lives. No more Greendale craziness, we're just going to be adults now and do grown-up stuff." 

"You think running off and marrying Jeff in Las Vegas, in what I can only assume was some kind of drug-fuelled mania, is a good example of that?"

"We were surprisingly almost totally sober for the actual ceremony. How grown-up is that?"

"It's still the most immature thing I've ever heard! What would your psychology textbooks say about all this? Because I don't see how any of it can be mentally healthy."

"Pfft. What do I need to listen to psychology, for? Save that feelgood junk for the crazies; I'm fine. I'm not damaged - I mean, Jeff is, but that's his biz. _I_ have well-defined needs and expectations and I am my own best support system. Killing it as a functional example of womanhood over here, booyah. Because you know what, we all just need to love ourselves a little better, Shirley, and stop trying to live up to our own overblown ideals as if happily ever after isn't just the catch-cry of the patriarchy trying to sell us white dresses and blood diamonds, anyway, you know? In the end, it's kinder to yourself to just say, hey, whatever, this'll do. We should all be free to just be whatever. That's what I've always said and I stand by it."

"Are you high right now?"

"No! Well, yes, but that's not the point."

"There was a point in any of that?"

"The point is, or will be once I make it, that no one gets the dream. Do they?"

"They still try. And it's not wrong to want it even after... everything goes bad."

"Oh, Shirley."

"Wait, this isn't about my terrible decisions, it's about you and yours which are frankly in a whole class of their own. Seriously, why are you getting high on top of everything? What's wrong with you?"

"Jeff's in the jacuzzi and I got bored. Our room has a jacuzzi, Shirley." 

"I know, Jeff tweeted the pictures." 

"Okay, but listen, thank you for calling."

"You called me."

"And I thank you for it. Everything will be fine."

"That's the drugs talking. You do know that?"

Britta blew a raspberry at her phone and hung up.

Everything was fine and dandy. So it wasn't the most elegant or mature way to go about getting hitched. The whole fairytale thing wasn't her, anyway. She'd always been really suspicious of fairytales.

Across the room, only the back of Jeff's head was visible above the side of the jacuzzi; his head, and the phone pressed to his ear.

"I don't know, Abed," he was saying as she tuned into his conversation. "Because her hair is almost always on point, and I respect that. Why can't that be enough?" 

She stood up and stretched, it was late in the afternoon and she was feeling a lot less seedy now she had a decent mellow going.

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way," Jeff said, "but this is nothing like that episode of Friends."

She stripped as she crossed the room and as she stepped into the warm water, naked, Jeff was watching with half-lidded eyes.

"We're flying back tomorrow, and you'll see why you're wrong. Everything's fine, Abed, don't worry about it."

He ended the call and his arm stretched over the rim of the tub to drop his phone on the floor, where it landed next to two empty mini bottles from the bar fridge. Then he reached for her and she batted his hands away even as she moved to straddle his thighs.

"Keep your pruney fingers off me."

"If you keep your stoner breath out of my face. How's Shirley?"

"How's Abed? Never mind that, how many people do you think have had sex in this tub?"

He screwed up his face. "Let's try not to think about it."

"Sure, we're getting good at that." She spread her hands over his chest as the spa jets swirled the water around them. It was nice and soothing and she just really hoped she didn't get an infection from this.

Her hands moved down between them and found his cock, stroking him till he was hard.

"I might need about a month-long refractory period once we get back," he said, bringing her body closer to his with his hands on her ass. She settled against him, rocking with his erection pressed between them, biting her lip as her clit slid along his length. "This is a lot of debauchery even for me." 

"Hey, it's been a good honeymoon - we needed to let our heads go. Once we're back we'll have to start house-hunting and paying off this trip and figuring out what to do about our apartments."

"Will we?"

She stilled, the words cutting through her buzz, and she frowned. "Don't. Not yet, okay. We're still here for one more night." She pressed down on his shoulders and started moving again, a little more urgently. 

"Sorry." His eyes were half-closed as his hands came up to frame her ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. "You, and your breasts, are a beautiful distraction."

She leaned down and kissed him, long and deep, and he tasted like booze and sweet, sweet denial.

She came like that a minute later, tongue in his mouth, grinding on his lap with his hands moving all over her wet skin. And then she jerked him off, watching as his head fell back against the rim of the tub, watching his face as she drove him over the edge with just one hand. 

In that moment she thought she really did totally, totally love the dude.

*

"Okay, but there has to be a reason why I keep ending up getting with him," she said, speaking quietly while sitting in the bathroom with the door shut.

"Is he that good in bed?" Shirley said. "You can tell me, I don't mind details."

"No..."

"No really, I don't mind hearing about it. Go right ahead."

"I'm saying we really did it this time. I literally married the guy. Jeff Winger. Come on, who just does that? People don't do that."

"I don't know, you're just two very messed up people with no self-respect, I guess."

" _Or_ , it means something. It has to mean something."

"The two of you get along like an alley cat and a stray dog locked in the trunk of a car together on a hot day. If it's not the lure of his bedroom skills then I don't know what's going on with you."

"Yeah, it's not really that, though. Ugh, Shirley, let's talk about something else. How's school? Can't believe you guys saved Greendale."

"The two of you are just lucky I have so much passion for baking or we could all still be trapped down in that basement witnessing the unnatural love between a man and a sexbot."

"Huh. Well, I guess everyone's really happy to be back."

"You and Jeff and are coming back, too, aren't you?"

"I... guess so? Yeah, I mean, what else are we going to do?"

"Because you know that's the whole point of this place. You can always come back. You don't even have to be embarrassed, we've all seen you and Jeff do much stupider things than this. Well, no, that's not true. But we have seen you do other stupid things."

An image of Greendale as the emotional crutch holding her back from moving on with her life was suddenly duking it out in her head with Greendale as the place where she could go back. Back to normal.

Well, not so much if she was pregnant, though.

"You don't know the half of it," she said.

"What, did you get tattoos of each other's names? Those'll be a lot more difficult to get rid of than a quickie Vegas marriage, let me tell you."

"God, I wish I was still high right now."

"You're not? Oh, that's nice, here I was just assuming."

* 

They came back to Greendale like the walking dead.

Hungover, exhausted, chafed in places, bruised in others, a lot poorer, and god, _so_ hungover.

They must have looked as bad as they felt, too, because when Shirley picked them up at the airport she hardly said a word.

*

Everything was back to normal at Greendale. Like the school had never closed down and been sold to Subway. Like it had never been in danger at all.

It was weird, how it turned out they were the ones who had changed things up for good.

Or not.

The charade broke down about thirty minutes after walking back onto campus. Absolutely no one was surprised. Especially not Jeff and Britta.

But it was okay. They were friends, they could put it behind them and move on.

"So the Dean keeps tearing up every time he sees me," Jeff said.

"He called me a homewrecker."

Jeff came and sat beside her at the study room table in their usual seats.

"We might be... idiots," he said.

"Our brilliant plan to solve everything by shacking up together may have been slightly flawed, I'll admit."

"Ever feel like you made a huge decision with lasting, life-altering consequences with maybe not all the information at your disposal?"

She rolled her eyes. "Relax, I'm not pregnant."

"Wait, you're sure? Isn't it a little early to -"

"Not if you get your period. I'll take a test in another week or two just to be safe but I'm pretty sure you're off the hook."

He leaned over, his head in his hands, the relief pouring off him. "Who were we kidding?"

"I know, right? No one was going to give us a mortgage. My credit rating is in the toilet."

"And we can't get a dog, your cats would eat it alive."

"Plus the part where we're not in love."

He turned his head to the side to look at her.

She waved a hand. "It's no big deal, we'll get a divorce. How hard can it be?"

"Divorce - see, _now_ I feel like a real adult."

"An adult who was doing body shots with me a few days ago and posting about it on facebook."

"My mom liked all of those ones."

"It was kind of nice."

"Well I do a great body shot, it's true."

"No, I mean, for a while there... It was nice, even if we were kidding ourselves. I was with my best friend; I was okay, you know?"

"I'm willing to admit I enjoyed all the sex."

"Ass."

"Sure, things got a little out of hand and everyone thinks we're a couple of knuckleheads - like that should come as a surprise to anyone. But hey, the school is saved, I have a cushy teaching job to fall back on, and I didn't knock anyone up this week. I'm counting it as a win."

"Yeah, life goes on. Same as always." 

She smiled as he left, glad things were going to be okay. They'd done stupid things before; easy enough to put it in the past and pretend it never happened. Same as always.

Yep.

Except that was kind of the problem, though. 

She'd run off with a dude and gotten married and nothing had changed. She'd kept her name, lost a little self-respect, sure, maybe, but what else was new. 

Britta Perry, G.E.D, same as the day she'd sat down in her first Spanish 101 class. 

*

"Shirley told me you were thinking about transferring," Annie said by way of greeting, plopping down on the couch beside her.

"Of course she did," Britta said, rolling her eyes. "I'm just thinking about it."

"Shirley said she saw you filling out _forms_. Is this because of..." Annie hesitated, and Britta joined her in her hesitation.

Because it was Annie, and she had been feeling a little self-conscious around Annie lately, even though Annie, for her part, had been acting like nothing had even happened. 

But then, Annie was the kind of person who always had all her crap together. She didn't leave her crap lying out all over the place for everyone to see.

Britta had, once upon a time, liked to think she was that kind of person.

Boy howdy was she not. 

Finally, after a long pause, she said, "No. I don't know, things are just... complicated right now. It might be time for a change, that's all. I haven't made any decisions."

Annie stared at her a moment, and said purposefully, "Whatever happens, Britta, we should stay friends." 

"Whatever happens?"

"I just - if you do leave, I mean. I know you're terrible at staying in touch, but if I'm willing to put in the effort to comment on yet another instagram of your cats, then you can do me the same courtesy." 

Annie almost always commented on her cat photos. Even if it was just with a smiley face.

Britta smiled weakly and nodded. Because what was she supposed to say, _sorry I married the guy you like?_ Was there ever a time or a place it would be cool to say something like that? Her instincts told her no.

"You want to study?" she threw out there instead.

"Yes," said Annie.

And they both opened books and just let the moment slide on awkwardly by.

*

She put the transfer forms aside and tried not to think about it because the end of semester was still weeks away and rash decisions were not her friend. And it worked. For a while.

Then she finally made herself take that pregnancy test, and when it was negative, she realised she was finally allowed to drink heavily again.

So she got really hammered that night and wound up drunk dialling Jeff.

"Okay here's the thing," she said, once he was sitting beside her on her couch and she finally felt like she could really say everything that had been threatening to come out of her mouth since she'd said 'I do'. "Jeffrey." 

"Britta. How drunk are you right now?" 

"I'm as drunk as shut up I'm talking. Because I want to tell you that I feel things about your face sometimes. And it's like, okay, I wouldn't have married anyone else I know, you know? Not Annie or Abed or even _Troy_ and he was my boyfriend. You've never been my boyfriend. What's up with everything about that, is what I'm asking. What's with us, Jeff Winger?" 

"Well, to start with -" 

"And it's like Shirley said, we're two very messed up people here but see, I don't think we're even that bad and I just - I - I wouldn't have married anyone else and I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that. Help me out here, bro." 

"I wouldn't have proposed to anyone else. Not like that. I wouldn't have gone to Vegas and got married by Elvis with anyone but you. Does that help?" 

"Doesn't hurt." 

"Shirley tells me you're thinking about -" 

"God, Shirley, you're killing me." 

"Don't go. We just saved Greendale, remember?"

"It's weird now." 

"Then we have to figure out how not to be weird." 

"Maybe we can't this time."

"I don't accept that. Pierce _died_ , Troy took to the seas, you can't leave, too. And why, just because we did something stupid? It's us, that's just what we do, Britta, you can't hold it against us for being a couple of screw-ups of the highest order." 

"Well, gee, you are my husband, I guess you know best, sweetheart."

"You're not helping." 

"Wow. Why are you getting so upset? I haven't even decided anything yet, and even if I go, I'll be around, so -"

He leaned over and kissed her right out of nowhere, cutting her off mid-sentence, and it took her a minute for her drunk brain to catch up with what was happening to her face suddenly and push him away. 

"Whoa, what are you doing? Really? Like that's going to help?"

"It did in Vegas. Isn't that why you called me to come over? Isn't that what the vodka is about?" 

"I don't know. But look, grab a glass and join in, don't make out with me, jeez." 

He stood up. "I think I should go."

"Yeah, this was a bad idea. Sorry."

She sat on her couch after he was gone for a long time, hugging a cat, drunk and alone and confused. But at least she hadn't slept with him again. She was counting it as a win.

*

"What did you do to Jeff?" Shirley said.

"What do you mean?" 

The two women were sitting outside on a bench and Britta turned to follow the direction of Shirley's gaze as she nodded. 

"That right there's what I mean," Shirley said, and they watched as Jeff came along, spotted them, buried his nose in his phone and performed an about-face turn to hurry off in the opposite direction.

Britta rolled her eyes. "I didn't do anything. He's just avoiding me now because he hates me I guess. Whatever, he'll get over it."

Shirley fixed her with a serious look. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing. He tried to talk me out of transferring. I think that's what happened. It didn't go well, I definitely remember that. Plus there might be some mixed signals going on. Although the term 'mixed signals' is a weapon men use to punish women for being complex human beings and not coming with instruction manuals. But yeah, let's go with mixed signals."

"Well, whatever's been happening between the two of you, I think you broke him. He's been acting strange ever since you got back from Las Vegas."

"Contrary to what every duchebro on the planet wants us to think, Shirley, men are not actually traumatised when we don't sleep with them. He'll be fine."

"You get a little mean when you're sober, you know that? You are sober right now, aren't you?" 

"Sobriety is really a sliding scale... And hey, why are you on his side? Solidarity, Shirley. He started it, anyway." 

"Okay, I'm just as willing to be on your side - what did he do to you?" 

Britta frowned down at her lap for a moment, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. "He proposed," she said.

*

The day she handed in her transfer forms, the Dean got all teary-eyed and Britta decided to ignore all signs to the contrary and take it as a compliment. 

"I'm going to miss you, too," she said. "I just really need to change it up, you know?" 

He waved her off as she tried to pat his shoulder. "I don't know what you did to Jeffrey," he said, hugging the forms to his chest, "besides marry him, which is bad enough. But I think this will be an important part of the healing process."

"Oh my god," she said.

"That, and the divorce. How's that coming, by the way?" 

*

The thing was, she had no idea how the divorce was coming. 

Jeff was a lawyer still, sort of, and she assumed he was going to take care of it, or at least tell her what she needed to do. But he hadn't told her anything, and it was weird, because she assumed she would have to be involved with the process at some point. Like, sign things, or whatever.

True, she hadn't asked him about it, but she'd been dealing with some pretty heavy crap of her own - transferring community colleges didn't just happen, you had to _make_ it happen, like make phone calls and fill out forms and hand them in and stuff. She did not have time to get divorced on top of all of that.

Anyway, Jeff was probably handling it. They were barely speaking; he definitely would not want to stay married to her any longer than he had to.

*

It was after midnight, and Jeff was calling her. That was new. She hoped he hadn't been talking to Shirley. 

She'd just got home from her shift at the bar, and she let the phone ring for a moment, questioning whether she wanted to answer it or if she wanted to shower, get into her pyjamas, and go to bed.

The latter was way more appealing, but she answered, anyway. 

"The Dean told me you're going to City College next semester," he said. 

"Are you drunk?" 

"No. Are you? I mean, City College? Where's your self-respect?" 

"I think it's for the best." 

"I thought - I mean I thought you were just thinking about it." 

"I was. Now I'm actually doing it." 

" _Why?_ " 

"Okay, well. We were going to leave Greendale and never look back. Because we were being stupid, sure, but all that stuff we said about it being crazy and so far removed from reality - I mean, I love Greendale, but it's true. Maybe if I go to another school I will figure out how not to be the girl who marries a guy who doesn't even like her that much and be the girl who actually graduates with a degree, instead. That's why." 

"I like you." 

"Not that much." 

"You don't know how much, and look, shut up. This isn't about that. This is about - what happened with us in Vegas. You shouldn't let it get to you so much that you have to _change schools_. That's - how melodramatic is that? It's fine, we'll be fine, why can't you just get over it?" 

"What, like you?" 

"Exactly like me." 

"Yeah, you're dealing with all this just fine. Hey, so how about that divorce, huh? How's that coming?" 

"I don't know, I thought you were dealing with it." 

"I - you - what?" 

"Kidding. Like I'd let you anywhere near legal matters without proper supervision." 

"Jeez." 

"It's not like getting a haircut, though, it's complicated. We need to file jointly and go down to the courthouse, there are forms, it's a whole thing. I haven't really gotten around to it yet." 

Something in Britta snapped. 

He was being a jerk. Kissing her one day, not talking to her the next, calling her and not divorcing her and _she_ was sending mixed signals? She was so pissed at him suddenly, and pissed at herself, pissed at everything her life had become.

She started to speak. "Jeff, I'm going to tell you something now. It's really important, so I need you to really listen to me."

There was a pause. "Okay."

"You're not going to like it, but it has to be said. It's for your own good."

There was a longer silence this time. "Okay."

"You're not that good in bed."

" _What?_ " 

"You suck at oral sex and you care more about how your abs look than making your partner comfortable and it isn't funny when you finish before I do, god."

"Are you saying -"

"I'm saying you need to work on your game, dude. And stop projecting your issues onto me, or whatever you're doing, I'm trying to grow as a person and you're harshing my whole vibe. Bye."

She hung up and took a deep breath and released it in a huge sigh.

God, it felt so good to get that off her chest.

*

The inevitable Winger meltdown happened the next day.

She was actually surprised it took him that long to formulate a response. Now if only he had waited to confront her till after she sat down to eat lunch in the middle of the crowded cafeteria.

"Hey," he said, storming up to her, "we need to talk."

"Oh, fine." She started to get to her feet. "Lemme just -" 

"You think I'm _bad_ at _oral sex_?"

"That, and many other things."

"Have you ever gone down on you? It's no walk in the park, sister. And like you're so great in bed. You're impatient, and you act like the missionary position is an affront to feminism, which is stupid, and sometimes you try things you _must know_ not everyone is comfortable with, without even asking first. And for the record, being naked with another person can be a vulnerable situation for anyone, and if, one time, someone happened to be feeling a little insecure about their abs, the polite thing to do would be to offer some reassurance, not make it into a whole thing."

"Whoa."

"And in conclusion, you should know that your boobs are almost _too_ perky. It's distracting. Seriously, who are you trying to impress with those things?"

She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. "Hey, there is no need to get personal. And it was so not just one time."

"I stand by my remarks."

"Well, so do I."

"Then it's probably a good thing we are never going to have sex again."

"Here's hoping."

"That's great," Hickey said from a nearby table. "But you think anyone else is gonna want to give either of you the time of day when you're airing your dirty laundry in public like this?"

They looked around. Yep, everyone was watching them.

"What is it with you and me and public humiliation in the cafeteria?" she muttered as they headed for the nearest exit.

"Well, you're leaving, so it won't happen again. Like the sex," he shot back.

They were glaring so hard at each other then they almost knocked Leonard over in the doorway.

"Hey Winger," he said, "I heard you can't eat tacos." 

"Shut up, Leonard! I heard you've been bald since you were 22 because you were exposed to lead as a baby. Stop trying to pass it off as old age!"

"Dude," she said, as she and Leonard watched Jeff storm off down the corridor.

"What? It's Taco Tuesday and he's got that thing about carbs." He shrugged. "More tacos for Leonard." 

"Gross, Leonard."

*

"Britta? What did you do to Jeff?" Annie's voice on the phone sounded urgent, but Britta found it difficult to muster much concern. 

It was Sunday night. She was chilling. And she was just getting pretty sick of talking about Jeff to like, everybody. Not to mention: "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"He's... here. At our place. He's very drunk and he keeps rambling about vindictive women - I'm assuming that's you. I mean, I heard about what happened in the cafeteria. And he smells really bad and he looks like he hasn't shaved. And, you know, not in a good way; like he actually just didn't shave."

"Okay, but -"

"Oh my god, Abed, I told you to get him a bucket! If he hurls on the carpet I am not cleaning it up."

"So, Annie -" she tried again, but Annie was busy carrying on two separate conversations.

"Oh, great, the bucket has holes in it because he used it to make a Blorgon helmet. Blorgons don't even have helmets, Abed!" There was a pause in which Abed's voice could faintly be heard. "Oh, I'm sorry, they had helmets in the unaired pilot? Do I look like I care? Whatever, just try to get him into the bathroom. Sorry, I'm dealing with a situation here." 

That last part was directed at Britta, who took a breath and said, "Right, I get that, but I still don't know why you called me." 

"Because I don't know what to do! And I shouldn't have to know, because it shouldn't be my problem at all. Nothing this gross should be my problem, Britta. When he first got here he was trying to tell us about his... _bedroom skills_. And I just -" 

"Oh my god, Annie, whatever you do, do not sleep with him right now. He's got something to prove, trust me, it wouldn't be pretty." 

"Ew, why would I sleep with him? Why would you even think that? He's about to throw up on my carpet and he keeps talking about your boobs."

"I don't know, because it's Jeff, and sometimes these things just happen."

"What, like the two of you getting married?"

"Basically, yeah. I'm just saying, friendly warning."

"No," said Annie. "No, things don't just _happen_ , Britta. People choose. They make decisions, bad ones sometimes, but they _decide_ , and they have to live with their choices. If you don't know that, it explains a lot. Just take some responsibility for yourselves, _both of you!_ " she finished shrilly.

"That," Britta said, enunciating clearly, because sheesh, "is what I have been trying to do." 

Right? She'd been handling all of this with maturity and aplomb.

It was Jeff who was being all weird and jerkish.

Right?

She considered for a moment. Really considered.

Well, crap.

"Okay, I'm sorry, Annie. You're right, it's not your problem. Do you want me to come and get him?" 

"Mm-hm, please."

"I'll be there soon. You can use a plastic bag instead of a bucket, you know. Double up, just to be safe." 

"Abed! Get a couple plastic bags from the plastic bag cupboard, now!" 

*

Jeff and his plastic bags slumped over against the window and slept the whole way to his place.

She had to help him up to his apartment, which wasn't exactly fun - hauling around a six-foot, overgrown gumby, three times her weight, who kept trying to go limp, and tried to fight her off every time she searched his pockets for his keys.

And Annie wasn't kidding, he did keep talking about her boobs.

Finally she got him inside and dumped him on his bed.

She left him there, pausing on her way out to leave a note on his counter that said, _we need to talk_.

*

Monday nights at the bar were slow. 

Which is why she noticed this one particular customer the moment he walked in the door.

He slid onto a stool and took off his sunglasses, wincing at the not even slightly harsh bar lighting.

She got down one of their nicer bottles of single malt and was reaching for a tumbler when he held up a hand.

"I'll just have water, actually, I'm still rehydrating. I think I might actually be getting too old for this kind of hangover." 

"Dude, you were so wasted. You haven't been that drunk since... You know."

"Since Vegas? No, I was never _that_ drunk in Vegas. I was a beacon of sobriety in Vegas compared to last night." 

She got him an ice water, then headed down the bar to serve someone else. When she came back, his head was in his hands, elbows planted on the bar.

"So," she said, "I don't think either of us has been dealing with our situation very well." 

"No kidding." He spoke without raising his head. "I think I was in denial."

"You were definitely in denial. We both were."

"We got married." 

"We got married and I almost got knocked up." 

"I kind of... wanted you to get knocked up. I mean, what if you had? What the insanity."

"Right?"

"That's -"

"Big. It's a big honking deal. What the hell is wrong with us? And why aren't we friends anymore?"

Oh that last part just slipped out. 

She poured herself a finger of expensive scotch she wasn't going to appreciate, swallowed a burning mouthful and lowered the glass to find he had finally lifted his head and was watching her.

"Don't be stupid," he said. "We'll always be friends."

Slowly, she started to smile. It was terrible how relieved she was to hear him say that.

"You're not that bad in bed." It was a peace offering. "I could always make it work. And you were kind of a trooper that time I tried that thing."

"And look, your boobs aren't too perky. They're amazing. I just get resentful because I know you never had to put in any effort to get them that way." He winced at his own admission and waved a hand. "I'll take the scotch now. With a drop of -"

"A drop of water, I know." 

"Springwater."

"You'll get what you get and you'll like it."

"Here's the thing," he leaned forward over the bar, "doesn't it weird you out that we're still married?"

"Constantly." 

"Okay." He sipped his scotch. "Okay, good. Just checking." 

*

Aside from getting crowned Transfer Queen - which was seven kinds of ironic and very surreal - nothing out of the ordinary happened at the Transfer Dance. 

Not that she was expecting it to.

*

After the dance, however, they all went to Denny's.

"Aw, I can't believe you're never going to go to another Greendale dance," Annie said.

"Don't, you'll make me sad."

"Well," Shirley said, "there's still a whole summer for you to change your mind. Just don't forget, you can always come back to Greendale."

Ten minutes later she was outside around the back of the Denny's, lighting up by the dumpsters.

"Are you crying?" 

She whirled around, but resisted the urge to hide the joint behind her back. "No, I'm getting stoned."

Jeff pushed off the wall where he'd just rounded the corner of the building and came closer. "You'll be fine, you know. At city college, I mean." 

"Will I?"

"By all accounts it's a normal school. Going there? Come on, how hard can that be? You already got the hard part over with - getting out of Greendale."

"Third time's a charm, I guess."

She offered him a toke but he waved it off with an impatient roll of his eyes and it was such a Jeff-ish gesture it made her smile.

She turned and tamped off the end of her joint on the side of the dumpster and dropped it back in her purse. Then she grabbed Jeff by the face and dragged him down and kissed him.

She wasn't even high yet. She had no excuse. He was there; he was Jeff. That was it.

"Damn, sorry," she said, letting him go in time to see the surprise still on his face.

"Uh."

"Sorry." She went to make a beeline past him back round the front of the building where maybe her dignity was hanging out waiting for her, but he stopped her.

Not with hands, with talking.

"You're in love with me, aren't you? I'm not misreading the situation. You're really -"

"What?" she spluttered, rounding on him. "No! I just - I'm just stupid, and self-destructive, and on drugs." 

_Take responsibility for yourself! Things don't just happen, Britta_ , she heard in her head, in Annie's most judgemental tone.

Well, damn, Annie.

"And crap, yeah, okay, maybe I am a little," she admitted. "Let's not make a big deal out of it. It was just a kiss. You kissed me that night I got super drunk and I didn't make you feel weird about it. God, you know, I'm trying to better myself here. I'm trying to be healthy."

"Sorry, but screw healthy. When we were in Vegas, I watched you, the lone woman playing strip poker at a blackjack table for an entire half hour, and it was magnificent. I mean, why not just be a screw-up?"

"With you?" His response was too long coming and she threw up her hands. "No one ever wants to be the one to say uncle, but sometimes you've got to throw in the towel and move on. Sorry I kissed you."

She tried to walk past him again but this time his big, stupid body was in the way. She rubbed at her eyes, feeling so exhausted suddenly.

"Wait, Britta, look at my face."

She sighed and lifted her head. "Okay, but it's not as handsome as you think it is."

"You're obviously delirious right now, so I'll let that slide. The point is, look at me, do you see me blinking?"

She shrugged. "You can blink if you want to."

"You and I don't blink. We double-down. So here I go, I'm laying my cards on the table. You're in love with me."

"Those aren't your cards."

"I was just re-establishing that I know. I just, I hate -"

"Me?"

"No, moron. I hate losing."

"What did you lose?"

"I mean losing in general - come on, you know this about me. Losing at life, losing at being a functional adult. Losing you. We can fix it, though."

"I can't fix you, Jeff. I'd love to, but I can't. Not even I am that good at therapising."

"We can fix _us_ , though, right?"

"Oh my god, just spit it out. Do you love me back?"

"Yeah. Yes. Sure, it's not The Notebook, and I'm not Ryan Gosling, so maybe I don't do fireworks and kissing in the rain. Not that I would want to. Because I'd rather have what we have."

"What do we have?"

"Okay sex, and an unwillingness to back down in the face of countless reasons why we should. Look, we went about it the wrong way but the original intent was solid. Just because we're married doesn't mean we have to be married like adults. Let's be married like us. With separate areas of the apartment for your organic cat food and my organic hair products. And a well-stocked liquor cabinet."

" _Our_ organic hair products."

"Don't push it. At the very least, we give it shot, _then_ get a divorce. Before, with the house and dog, we were clearly aiming too high. Always aim low. That's how you beat the curve. 'Till death'? Bring it. We'll blink when we're dead and not a minute before."

It all sounded so sensible when he put it like that. If she needed further proof that she was actually, seriously in love with him, this had to be it. 

She found herself smiling. "That's... actually kind of romantic. And stupid, and makes us both out to be total whackjobs, but as a mental health professional - all right, I admit it's kind of our shtick. Fine, what the hell, let's defy the status quo and common sense and actually be happy, maybe. Sure, that could work."

"I knew it. My face is that handsome, isn't it?"

"I admit to nothing."

"Silence is basically admission."

"Okay Sir Thomas Moore, then what do you call silent protest?"

"Largely ineffectual unless you're Gandhi. And no one here, especially not you, is Gandhi."

"Don't bring Gandhi into this. Hey, now there's a great name for a dog."

He took her hand. "Come on, we can discuss this further while I go down on you in my car."

"Oh god, it's a whole thing now, isn't it? You've got something to prove."

"Hey, if we're doing this married thing, it takes a lot of the pressure off. I don't have to be great in bed, I just have to be better than you."

He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into his side as they walked to his car to have risky, public, parking lot sex while basically everyone they knew was still inside eating. 

Being stupid and reckless never felt so hopeful.


End file.
